


Workplace Hazards

by catpoop



Series: Sheith Month 2017 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Charon - Freeform, Driving, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades - Freeform, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, SheithMonth2k17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Sheith Month '17 - 2/8: HadesBroke and near-homeless, Keith takes the first job he can get. Unfortunately, the clientele are a little ...otherworldly.





	Workplace Hazards

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to do this in order but welp. here's day 2. in the middle of july

The want ad is simple. Non-descript. ‘Shuttle driver needed. Mon-Sat. 8 hours a day.’ And most importantly, wages slightly above minimum. 

Keith can drive. And he likes being paid... 

He’s calling the listed number before he can finish the thought. Screw the other jobs, anyway, with their master’s degrees and PhDs. 

A weary voice answers him, and Keith’s first thought is _‘Same’_ , before he actually processes the words.

“How may I help you?” The words echo dully in Keith’s ear, and he scrambles to find his responsible adult voice.

“I – saw the ad? For a driver –”

“Oh! Yes, perfect –” The voice pulls away and mutters something to a nameless supervisor before returning. “You can start tomorrow. Come to the address listed on the advertisement.”

He barely has time to reply before the voice is hanging up, and Keith scrambles to take a second look at the ad, noting the normal-looking address that he’d missed on first glance.

… Hopefully not sex trafficking.

 _Fuck it_. Somehow, he’s gotten himself a job that pays well, bizarre or not. He doesn’t think he’d even left his name.

\-----

Somewhere in the flurry of confusion, Keith finds himself on the doorstep of an elaborate office building, then awkwardly sitting in one of the lobby’s plush chairs. It creaks loudly.

Oddly enough, the antechamber is devoid of a single soul. Regardless, Keith sits tight. It’s not as if he has anything better to do. Maybe scour the internet for more listings, but he’s triple-checked in the past days, anyway.

Keith is ten percent down on his phone battery and considering napping when one of the imposing office doors before him opens and an equally imposing man steps out.

“Urgh.” The man rubs his eyes and tugs at his constricting tie (multicoloured … cats?) before doing a comedic double-take at the sight of Keith. 

“Whoa! Are you lost?”

He sounds a lot more alive than whoever had been on the phone, and looks a lot more alive, too. Keith drags his eyes away from bulging biceps and sharp jaw to confusedly regard the man.

“I’m here. For a job?” He’s considering backing out right about now, but the man holds out a warm palm. Keith dutifully shakes his hand. It’s warm.

“Ah, good. You must be – must be … what did you say your name was again?”

 _I didn’t_ , Keith wants to say, but what he says instead with a forced, polite expression is, “Keith Geum.”

“Nice to meet you, Keith. Was it the – driving job you’re here for?”

Keith dips his head in the shallowest nod, and the man breaks out into a welcoming smile. Keith nearly recoils, if not for the award-winning pearly whites.

“Brilliant, you can get started as soon as possible. The last guy bailed, and we’ve been having massive trouble with all the passengers.”

Smarter passengers would’ve changed to different public transportation. 

Keith follows him into his office, tentatively sitting on the chaise longue that looks worth its weight in gold. Or at least enough to pay off his loans.

The silver nameplate lists his name as ‘Takashi Shirogane,’ and Keith wonders briefly why such an important looking man in his important looking office wouldn’t want to hire a more professional driver. 

His attention turns back to Shirogane when his rumbly voice interrupts the momentary silence. “Just fill out this form, and we can start.”

Keith carefully scrawls his way through the unorthodox questions (‘Have you ever had a near-death experience?’, ‘Do you have kleptomaniac tendencies?’) before signing in his best handwriting.

Shirogane frowns at his chicken-scratch before nodding promptly and pulling out a plastic namecard, a pair of black gloves, and a coin wallet.

Keith stares at the assorted items, slowly looking up for an explanation. He doesn’t need to wait long.

Shirogane gestures at each object in turn. “This is for writing your name on. This, to protect your hands. And for storing the shuttle fare.”

Right. Keith can already imagine the rickety ancient machine he’s going to be driving. Maybe the steering wheel will fall apart under his hands. His hesitation only increases when Shirogane hands him the keys.

“I can start … now?” The absurdity of it all makes Keith want to walk right out.

Shirogane gives him a confident smile. “Yeah? I’ll have to show you the bus and the route and how to handle the passengers, of course.”

Riight.

Feeling just a little less wary, Keith follows Shirogane outside and through one of the neighbouring office doors. Strangely enough, over the threshold takes them right before a bus, a peeling little thing with grimy windows and uncomfortable-looking wooden seats.

Keith recoils a little, watching in open confusion as the smartly dressed man beside him sits down in one of the seats and gestures at the driver’s.

“Here. For you.” Unexpectedly, the seat looks almost brand-new, all cushioned leather and ergonomic design. It looks out of place, like a bear trap in a field of dandelions. Keith sits down anyway.

“Why is this so –”

“Old?” Shirogane supplies. “New?”

“I – yes.” Keith shakes his head. “Old. And new.”

“The – uh – last driver complained of back pain. So we bought a new seat. But he never returned.”

It’s a comfortable seat. The last driver is missing out.

Shirogane continues, “And the bus looked fine before. Not sure when all this wear and tear happened.”

Maybe in the past few centuries? Keith is certain the wheels are going to fall off the moment he figures out how to start the engine. Thankfully, Shirogane leans over and does just so for him, and he hangs onto his seat for dear life, lest the engine explode or Shirogane lean even further into his personal space.

“There! Now we drive.”

And so Keith drives. Right out of the back of a building, apparently, but he doesn’t give it too much thought, instead frowning at the view outside. 

Maybe he’s just never noticed this dusky paved road with its looming trees, or the oily-looking river beside them.

“Mister Sh –” Keith begins, just as Shirogane interrupts.

“Look, our first passenger!” He points out the window in excitement. “And call me Shiro,” he adds.

Keith spots the withered-looking old man a distance away by his shock of white hair and his striped pyjamas. He makes no move to hail down the bus, but Shiro urges him to stop anyway. The ancient machine comes to a juddering halt.

All of ten seconds later, and the old man finally steps inside. He produces a coin from somewhere within his armpit, if his under-shirt rummaging around is any indication.

“ _Gloves. Bag._ ” Shiro hisses, before all the blood can drain from Keith’s face. He shakily accepts the fare, staring at Shiro in concern.

“What was that?” he hisses back. The old man is still well within earshot, but Keith is beyond caring at this stage. 

“Just a passenger. That’s why you need gloves.”

“Are all the passengers like this?”

“Like what?”

Before Keith can shoot back a reply, Shiro is urging him to continue down the road. “The sooner you finish one circuit the sooner you can take a break.”

Keith is back to zooming down the road in no time.

\-----

He soon figures out that though the passengers can vary, most are old and decrepit. They look a little like Keith’s mildewed bathroom, personified.

Each and every coin is unpleasantly collected from varying orifices. Or from a stray pocket, if he’s lucky. 

And the route is mindlessly boring, with the exception of what briefly looks like the red glow of lava in the distance and the rickety bridge he has to cross (the oily river swirls beneath him, ready to swallow the bus whole if and when the wooden slats decide to break.)

“Shiro?” Keith asks, for once looking to small talk for comfort. The situation is far more surreal than he can handle.

“Yes?”

“Where are we?”

Shiro’s relaxed tone immediately morphs into hesitation. “Just – y’know – some road. River. We’ll be at the terminal soon, don’t worry. Then we can drop everyone off and be straight back home.”

Keith’s frown is deep enough to obscure half of his vision. “Okay…”

‘Straight back home’ sounds promising, even if the lavish office is nowhere near home. His butt is starting to numb.

The background noise of the passengers chittering and talking is grinding painfully on his ears by the time they arrive at the final stop. Keith is glad to see them go, though their numbers look a lot larger than the flat-looking coin pouch beside him. He shrugs.

Whatever dark imposing building they are all heading for is a lot more interesting. 

“What … is that?”

“Just a building. The terminus. Anyway, Keith, time to leave!”

He gives the building a closer look, but there’s nothing he can see except for the smooth, impenetrable façade and the rotating doors the passengers are disappearing into, one by one. It’s a fearful sort of instinct that urges him to turn his head and drive off, but Keith’s bewilderment settles strange and heavy in his gut.

Especially when the journey back takes less than half an hour. 

“Ah, you found the shortcut,” Shiro remarks. Keith isn’t entirely sure what he’s talking about.

Expectedly enough, the rest of his shift follows in the same manner, driving the round trip to the ominous destination and back. His eyes hurt from trying to pick out each faded-looking passenger from the monochrome backdrop.

The only break in the monotony is when his mistreated internal organs decide to voice a complaint.

Keith totters into the correct office (fortunately). All of the doors look very similar. “Um, Shiro, is there a bathroom I can use?”

Shiro looks up from his computer as though surprised to see him. “Oh! It’s – uh – you. I haven’t gotten used to having a disciplined driver yet.”

Keith supposes he’ll take this as a compliment, but his bladder doesn’t agree. “A – bathroom?” He tries again.

“Oh, of course – through here.” With a wave of a broad hand, a door appears in the wall, where Keith was pretty sure there hadn’t been one before – if his poor observation skills are to be trusted. 

“It’s a guest room, I think. Bathroom through one of the doors.” And then he turns back to his monitor. 

Hopefully the bathroom is a little newer than the bus.

But Keith needn’t worry, because he opens the door and is faced with the kind of expensive penthouse suite he’d need a millennia of wages to buy. He cautiously peeks back outside, but Shiro is still tapping away at his keyboard, unconcerned that he’d let some scruffy stranger off the streets into his expensive home.

The polished toilet bowl makes pissing a luxurious occasion. Keith is reluctant to return to the bus.

“How was it?” Shiro asks unexpectedly when Keith emerges after a long moment.

Um. “Fancy?”

“That’s good.” Shiro looks relieved. “You can use that room whenever you need to take a break. I know the de – the passengers can get a little feisty at times.”

Keith quirks a quizzical brow.

\-----

Keith has to prod one of the passengers off the bus after she completely ignores the big sign saying ‘PAYMENT UPON BOARDING’. He quickly shuts the door before the woman can clamber back on, and sets the cattle prod back down. It was the only appropriate thing on hand for the job.

\-----

Keith brings up the cattle prod to Shiro.

“For handling feisty passengers, I told you.”

Of course.

Thankfully, the majority of the passengers know to hand over some kind of coin, even if sometimes streaked with blood or other bodily fluids. Keith collects them anyway, and dumps the disgusting baggage onto Shiro’s desk after every round trip.

Shiro singles out a grimy one yen coin and frowns. “Are they trying to cheat me of money? The ride costs way more than that.” He picks up another, some gold amorphous lump. “Is this –?”

Keith thinks it might be solid gold, though it disappears too quickly into Shiro’s shirtsleeves for him to ascertain.

“Hm. Anyway, good work for now, and I’ll get back to you on your pay check once your shift is over.”

Shiro must’ve mistaken Keith’s disgusted expression at the pile of coins for something else. And he isn’t ready to get back to the bus just yet.

“Can I – is there – a lunch break?” Keith asks, in his most polite voice.

He isn’t feeling too hungry, but past experience tells him that skipping out on breakfast and lunch usually results in tripping down a flight of stairs or fainting somewhere inconvenient. 

“Oh, right! Lunch. Of course.” Shiro double checks the time off the misshapen hourglass on his desk. There isn’t much to see, except for a sprinkling of dark sand. “Just … come back within the hour. Unless you want to eat here?”

His smile is oddly hopeful, and Keith has to admit the way it creases his cheeks makes him want to stay, but he’ll make do with a candy bar and something else edible from the corner store for now.

Maybe he’s been stuck inside the bus for too long, but the sun seems blindingly bright when he steps outside. Keith nearly stumbles into the road before his eyes adjust. And when he looks behind him, all he can see is a regular row of buildings. Nowhere for a bus to depart, let alone rows of trees or some kind of far-off volcano.

But the office is still there when he returns, and so is Shiro.

“How was lunch? Do you want something to last you on the next trip?” He gestures at a filled fruit bowl that had _definitely_ not been there before. Keith tentatively takes an apple, and Shiro beams at him.

\-----

The apple is sweet. And doesn’t taste poisoned. By the time Keith finishes all eight trips of his eight-hour shift, only a mouldering brown core is left on the dashboard.

He empties out the coin pouch one last time in front of Shiro. The man looks impressed, if weary.

“Thank you, Keith. We haven’t had this many people in yea – _ages_. The sentries down at, down there want to thank you for all your hard work.”

Keith doesn’t recall seeing any sentries. He dips his head abashedly, feeling a little too put on the spot for a simple driving job. Shiro seems to think differently, sliding a sealed envelope across the desk to him.

“Here. Your first pay check. I know the job’s a tough one, so we try to pay well.” Keith carefully picks up the envelope in disbelief. “And the guest room’s free for you to use, in case you want an early start. Oh, and don’t forget to grab something if you’re ever feeling peckish.” Shiro nudges the fruit bowl.

Swayed by his charming smile, Keith takes a plum, nestling it in a pocket as he awkwardly mutters his thanks and turns to leave. The envelope creases under his fingertips.

He’s itching to pry it open, and the moment Shiro’s door eases shut, Keith scrabbles at the stiff paper, chipping at the wax seal to reveal the banknotes inside.

Definitely more than eight hours on minimum wage. He checks the front just in case Shiro gave him the wrong envelope. The scrawled ‘Keith Geum’ on the front barely registers when he spots the company name.

‘THE UNDERWORLD  
(Realm of Hades)’

And below it, the telephone number he had first called.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> @swummeng-geys.tumblr.com  
> twitter: @hashtag_yikes


End file.
